To say goodbye is to die a little
by TurnTheDirtIntoJoy
Summary: "No matter how well Scott knew her, he could never have imagined how she truly felt. He could never have anticipated – let alone understood – how, while she desperately wanted to see Stiles again, she just couldn't let herself be borne back so abruptly into the past. Her eyes met his, and he could see the tears threatening to fall."


With shaky hands, Scott knocked on the familiar wooden door, trying to ignore the knot in the pit of his stomach. He didn't want to do this - it was probably the best, and yet the worst thing he could do for Lydia right now - but he'd made a promise to his best friend, a long time ago. It wasn't that he forgot, but it never seemed like the right time to dig it up again. Somehow, it hurt a lot less to keep it buried.

"Scott?" Lydia's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. "What are you doing here?"

She was wearing a dusky cream lace dress, a blazer and black ankle boots. Her hair was down, with cascading waves falling on her back.

"Sorry, is it a bad time?" he asked.

"No, of course not," she reassured him. "Come on in."

She took a step back and waved her hand to invite him in. Scott's eyes caught a glimpse of her wedding ring, still firmly attached to her finger, and he couldn't help but smile. She never took it off, _never_, and held onto it as if it were the most precious thing in a world. He entered the house with Lydia on his heels.

"Do you want something to drink?" she asked, already heading for the kitchen.

"No, I'm good, thanks" Scott replied as he scanned the well-known pictures on the wall, looking for the comforting smile of an old friend. _Stiles and Lydia at graduation. Stiles and Lydia in Venice. Stiles and Lydia in Paris. Stiles and Lydia cutting their wedding cake. Stiles and a very pregnant Lydia. Stiles and Lydia at the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital._ Scott looked away before he could see the other pictures. He didn't want to see them. He knew them by heart anyway. He knew _he_ wasn't in them. It was just an endless succession of forced smiles and solitary portraits.

Scott entered the leaving room and let himself fall on the couch with a heavy sigh. He had never liked this place. Oh, it was a nice house. A really nice, beautiful house. But Scott had always found it too big. Empty. Like something was, and would always be missing. He could tell Lydia felt the same. But she'd grown accustomed to it. And buying a new house wouldn't make her any less lonely.

"Here," Lydia said as she handed him a glass of water and sat on one of the chairs opposite him. Scott addressed her a grateful smile even though he had told her he wasn't thirsty. She always did that.

He knew he was supposed to say something. But, now, seeing her, words seemed to escape him, like sand through his hand. And so he let the silence linger for a while and watched her play with her ring, twisting it on her finger. _Old habits_.

"So," he finally said, "how's my godson?"

Lydia rolled her eyes and smiled. "Sarcastic, cheeky, unable to focus" she started enumerating. "Reminds you of anyone?"

For the first time since he'd arrived, Scott noticed the cracks in her smile. Over the years, she'd grown really good at hiding her emotions. She was always cheerful, always lovely, always absolutely perfect. Truth is, she was everything people needed her to be. But sometimes, for a fleeting moment, he could see her walls collapse.

"As much as I love to have you over, Scott," she said. "I doubt you're here to make small talk, am I wrong?"

Scott shook his head. He couldn't back down now. _God, this is a terrible idea. It will break her_. He slid his fingers into his jacket pocket. Lydia's eyes followed his hands, looking for clues, trying to understand. When Scott finally put a DVD on the table before her, she addressed him a sceptical look.

"What is it?" she asked, puzzled.

"It's a video," Scott explained. "From Stiles."

Suddenly, there was not even a hint of a smile on her face. She just froze, her eyes staring blankly at the DVD.

"He made me promise to wait to give it to you," Scott went on. "But I... I could never figure out when."

He was finally realizing that the last four hours he had spent thinking about what he was going to say to her had just been a waste of time. Because no matter how hard he had tried to picture how the scene would play out, and no matter how well he knew her, he could never have imagined how she truly felt. He could never have anticipated – let alone understood – how, while she desperately wanted to see _him_ again, she just couldn't let herself be borne back so abruptly into the past. Her eyes met his, and he could see the tears threatening to fall.

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "I shouldn't have brought it."

"No," she blurted out as she swallowed back her tears and forced a smile. "Don't worry, it's okay."

Slowly, she grabbed the DVD with her shaking hands, keeping her eyes glued to it, as if mesmerized by the three words written on it: "_From your dad_".

"I'm fine," she whispered, as if trying to convince herself. "I'm fine."

Scott was speechless once more. He wanted to do something. Anything. After a few minutes, he decided the best he could do was leave her alone. He had kept his promise, there was nothing more he could do.

"I should go," he finally broke the unbearable silence as he rose.

When he brushed past her, he felt her gentle hand grab his wrist. She wasn't looking at him, she kept staring into nothingness, with her mouth slightly open and her eyes filled with tears.

"Scott," he heard her say. "Would you watch it me?"

That's when he understood. That's when he understood why he was feeling so nervous earlier. He wasn't scared of how she might react, but that she might ask him to watch it with her. Not once, not once in nine years, had he found the courage to watch it. It had crossed his mind a few times, he had even put it in the DVD player once, but he could never seem to actually press play. The idea of seeing him again, alive, of hearing his voice, was just too damn heart-wrenching.

"Of course," he replied, giving in. Maybe Lydia was the push he needed.

He sat back on the couch while she took care of the DVD player. After she grabbed the remote control, she sat down next to him, gave him an unconvincing smile, and pressed play.

_And there he was_. Scott had the rushing feeling that he'd just fallen off a cliff, unable to determine whether his heart filled with an overwhelming joy at the sight of his best friend or with a breathless horror at the sudden recollection of Stiles's physical condition during his last few days. He was thin, _so thin_, and pale, with purple rings under his eyes. Funny how Scott had transfigured those last moments in his head. Whenever he reminisced about those months Stiles had spent at the hospital, he always pictured him the way he'd always known him: crooked smile, warm brown eyes, always a joke on the tip of his tongue.

_"Is it recording?"_ Stiles's voice echoed through the living room, and Scott felt Lydia tense beside him. _"Okay, wow."_

When Stiles moved away from the camera, Scott easily recognised his surroundings: it was room 115 of the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. He recognised the horrid grey walls and the awful bedside lamp. Funny how those kinds of details stay with you.

_"I don't really know how this works,"_ Stiles said as he adjusted his hat, which hid his baldness. _"But I was told it was a thing so yeah. Here it is, my note to you."_

Instinctively, Scott grabbed Lydia's hand and squeezed. She was staring at the screen, trying to draw air out of a room which seemed to have none. Stiles's high-pitched voice brought his attention back to the TV.

_"Whaaat's up buddy? It's your old man,"_ he said, and both Scott and Lydia couldn't help but chuckle, because it was like old times; they were all seventeen again, and it was Monday morning and they had chemistry and everything was just so much more simple. Even dead, Stiles was still the one who lightened the mood. He may have been only human, but Stiles was, without the shred of a doubt, the toughest of the pack. Until the very end, Stiles had been a rock for his friends and family. For Lydia. Sure there had been ups and downs, but he'd remained so cheerful. Scott remembered the day he found out Lydia was pregnant. She didn't want to tell him, she feared it might break him. Yes, he had accepted the idea that he would never grow old with her but it was an entirely different thing to accept the fact that you would never see your kid grow up. She had kept the secret for as long as she could, dreading the moment when she would finally have to tell him. Never had she imagined he would be the one to dry her tears, whispering in her ear what wonderful news it was and what an amazing mother she would make. If heartbreak there was, he would not let her see.

He had let Scott see once, just once, and Scott still wondered sometimes if he had intended to. It was a Wednesday afternoon, he had stopped by the hospital to check on Stiles. He was particularly happy that day, showing to all the nurses the sonogram Lydia got that morning and droning on about how his son would be a real stud and an absolute genius. Scott couldn't help but smile as he listened to his best friend telling him about how his son was destined to rule the world "_given his father's looks and his mother's brains_", when, suddenly, Stiles just fell silent. He was staring at the sonogram in his hands, all traces of a smile gone from his lips. "_Stiles, you okay?_" Scott asked as he put his hand on his friend's shoulder. Stiles raised his head to look at him with tears-filled eyes. "_I just...,_" he whispered. "_I just really want to meet him_." And then Scott understood. He wasn't afraid to die. No, he had made his peace with it. He had made his peace with the idea that he would not be the love of Lydia's life. He had accepted the idea that he would never really be a dad. But he was terrified at the thought that he might not have enough time left. Enough time to simply meet his son.

_"So," _Stiles went on, bringing Scott back to the present_. "I guess that, if you're watching this, then it means I'm long gone and that I haven't had the chance to see you grow up."_

Lydia held his hand tighter and he glanced at her when he heard her inhale. As the alpha, Scott had spent most of his life trying to look brave, so he knew exactly what she was doing. Her teeth were clenched, she looked up at the ceiling, and her left hand was closed into a fist, her painted fingernails digging in the soft skin of her palm. She would not cry. She swallowed back the tears and looked back at the screen.

"_I hope you're taking good care of my Jeep, though_," Stiles's voice echoed through the room. "_She's a thing of beauty._"

_Stiles and his Jeep_, Scott thought, _a real love story_. "_It's a piece of junk!_" Lydia had argued to try and convince him to buy a car that actually worked properly. "_Shhh, she'll hear ya!_" he had replied with a horrified look. And when she had retorted "_It's just a car_", he'd left without a word, holding his hands up to let her know that he would not even dignify this remark with an answer.

"_By the way_," Stiles added, "_brake lights don't work and the power steering is leaking. So yeah, be careful with that._"

"God," Lydia blurted out, speaking for the first time since she'd pressed play. "This car's crap."

Scott smiled. Despite Lydia's constant refusal, Stiles had insisted his son should inherit it. "_It's a great car_," he'd pleaded, "_Full of memories_." And it was, Lydia couldn't deny that. Which is probably why, although she would never let her son drive a car that wasn't a 100% safe, she had kept it all this time, safely parked away in the garage. She would never admit it out loud, but Scott knew she even washed it once every two months. He also knew that, whenever she was feeling down, she would go sit in Stiles's Jeep. Her hands would linger on the steering wheel where his hands used to rest. She would sometimes turn the music on, knowing he'd left _Valleyheart _in the player, and the notes of _Not Just A Girl_ would lull her.

"Yeah," Scott confirmed with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"_I hope you're good with your mom as well_," Stiles went on, eyes shining with tears he refused to shed but his radiant smile nonetheless plastered on his face. "_I know she might seem like a gigantic pain in the ass sometimes - knowing her, she's probably smothering you._"

At his words, Lydia frowned, offended, and Scott knew that if Stiles had been alive and here, she would have given him a slight slap on the shoulder. Since the moment they met, Scott couldn't remember a day when they hadn't bickered like silly kids, only to reconcile with kisses.

"_But, really, she's just trying to protect you,_" Stiles said, more serious this time. "_The thing is, she has to love you for the both of us, you see. And that means she's probably worrying twice as much as any parent would._"

Scott and Lydia both chuckled because, let's face it, he was right. Even though Lydia would never say it out loud.

"_But believe me when I say this,_" Stiles continued, "_Your mother is the bravest, most strong-willed person I have ever met._"

At this point, Lydia was half-smiling, half-crying, and her tears rolled freely on her cheeks. Scott put an arm around her and squeezed her shoulder. He would be lying if he said he wasn't tearing up as well. The more he wiped away the tears, the more they filled his eyes. Yet, they were both smiling, because it was Stiles. Because they'd missed him. And because there he was, the clumsy adorable little dork they'd loved so very much.

"_Don't forget to tell her how much you love her and how beautiful she looks - and Lyds, if you're watching this, I love you with all my heart and you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen –"_

Lydia blew a kiss to the TV screen. Only he could think of professing his love from the grave, and she could not help but feel humbled by the relentlessness of his devotion.

"_But, for the love of god son," _Stiles sighed,_ "never, ever, argue with her about maths. Or chemistry. Or archaic Latin. Or anything really. You won't win._"

His smile was radiating heat throughout the living room, and Scott felt warmth surrounding his heart. Lydia snuggled up closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. He could feel her heartbeat beating a frantic pace, the blood rushing through her veins, the overwhelming joy and the unbearable pain of seeing him again. Or maybe it was just him.

"_I'm sorry I couldn't be there_," Stiles's voice was more serious now; his head was down, staring at his intertwined fingers. "_I really am. Sorry I didn't come to your baseball games. Sorry I didn't come to the parent-teacher conferences."_

Despite his silence, Scott had always known Stiles had had trouble coping with everything he would miss out. But mostly, Stiles felt somehow guilty. Guilty for leaving a child fatherless. He did not want his son to grow up like him, with the constant yearning for a lost parent. He didn't want to be a mere sadness, a burden in his son's life. He hated the idea of letting him down.

Over the course of their friendship, Scott and Stiles had often talked about how they imagined themselves growing up. And since he was nine, Stiles's fantasy hadn't changed much: he would marry Lydia Martin, he would buy her a beautiful house, and they would have two kids, a boy and a girl. Oh, and a dog, "_Lydia loves dogs_". Kids were always part of the plan. And Scott knew, hell he was convinced, that Stiles would have been the most amazing parent. "_How am I supposed to do this alone?_" Lydia had spluttered one day, head buried in the crook of her husband's neck, sobs caught in her throat. "_You have Scott, and my dad, you're not alone_," he'd tried to reassure her, hands gently stroking her strawberry blonde hair. "_And I know you're gonna be amazing. You don't even need me." _Lydia had brushed it off. "_What if I'm not enough?_" she'd asked, eyes buried in his, "_What if he needs his dad?_". Stiles pressed a kiss on her forehead and whispered in her hear: "_Nonsense. Lydia Martin is always enough_".

"_I wish I did, I really do_," Stiles said on screen, his voice breaking over the words as his eyes glowed with tears. "_I wish I'd been the one to teach you how to play chess, the one to teach you how to walk, how to ride a bike, how to drive, the one to give you the sex talk. I wish I'd been the one to forbid you to do all the things Scott and I used to do when we were you age._"

A wide smile spread across Scott's lips as a sudden rush of memories overcame him. How many times had they sneaked out of their houses in the middle of the night to go wandering around in the woods? Looking for dead bodies? Drinking alcohol they'd stolen from their parents or smoking pot? Or just staying up all night talking about girls – well, Lydia? Scott had spent such a huge part of his life with Stiles that it was hard to look back and not think of him. Of how he always had such terrible ideas - planting a grass garden in Coach's keyboard? Attaching an airhorn to the sheriff's seat? Bringing Oreos filled with toothpaste at the school's recital? – and how Scott always followed suit.

"_I know it's not much, but this…_," Stiles said, "_this video, it's my way of wishing you all the birthdays I never wished you and all the birthdays I'll never wish you."_

"_It's my way of saying hello._"

"_And goodbye._"

Lydia could hardly control her sobs now. Salty tears drenched her delicate eyelids as she closed her eyes in pain. She let it all out. All the pain, all the tiredness, all the loneliness. She had carried it in silence for too long. Not anymore. Scott held her close to him and fought the urge to take her pain away. Just a simple touch and he could make this all go away. But he restrained from doing so. They needed it. They needed the pain, the anger, the raw feeling of hopelessness. They needed it to feel alive. They needed it to keep Stiles alive.

Hands gripping Scott's shirt, Lydia cried out, finally letting out the scream she'd been holding. Scott wondered if she managed to catch Stiles's last words over her cries.

"_So yeah_," his voice resonated, soft, comforting, almost soothing, like a caress. "_I guess I just wanted to say hi. It was nice to meet you. And I love you so much._"

A tear rolled on Scott's cheek as he watched Lydia and came to a simple realisation: once people are broken in certain ways, they can never be fixed. You can try to forget, you can try to sweep it under the carpet, to burry away the pain. But trying to forget really never works. You have to remember to forget.

_Life will break you_, Scott thought. It will. But solitude won't protect you. You have to risk it. You have to risk being alive. Risk your heart and fall in love. And if you ever feel broken or shattered, go outside and breathe in the sunlight. Take in the flowers, and the trees, and the lilies at your feet. Tell yourself you've smelled as many as you could.

Stiles did.

In the end, none of them had had the chance to say goodbye. He had died peacefully in his sleep out of visiting hours. Scott was convinced he'd chosen to go like this. Lydia thought so too, and she never really forgave him. Still, she held on to his last words, knowing in her heart that, when he'd said it, he'd known they were his last.

"_I love you_," he'd said, eyes weary, as she headed for the door of his hospital room. "_You know that, right? Always._"

"_I love you too_," she'd answered, a light smile on her lips. "_Always._" And then she was gone.

Stiles had never liked goodbyes. He said that saying goodbye was to die little.

He was right.


End file.
